


Arrrrcadia

by ItsaVikingThing



Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Definitely timbers, F/F, Important Legal Documents, Possibly shivering, Revenge, Suicide, pilot, pirates!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-05-08
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-10-28 03:08:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10822470
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ItsaVikingThing/pseuds/ItsaVikingThing
Summary: It's the early years of an 18th century that never quite was.Maxine Caulfield is on the run from her old life and hoping to make a new life at sea.Chloe Price is third mate aboard the pirate vesselPompidou. She doesn't think she deserves much better than the early death being a pirate will bring, though privately she longs for more.Rachel Amber only wants one thing. She wants revenge on the people who ruined her family: the wealthy and influential Prescotts. And she'll do anything and use anyone to make it happen.In each other, they'll find a chance to get what they want. And a lot more than they ever expected.





	1. Three Kinds of Beautiful Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pirates AU? 
> 
> Pirates AU.
> 
> There's a suicide reference towards the end of this chapter.

It's a beautiful day on the Caribbean island of Arcadia.

Maxine Caulfield is too busy staring at the ships in the harbour to notice. She runs a hand over her head, dully surprised yet again by how little hair she finds.

She cut the rest off herself, with a trembling heart and a steady hand. She sold her tresses to a wig maker.

Her dresses she burned.

All but _that_ one. She couldn't bring herself to do it, in the end. Not when she held the white silk in her hands and thought of her mother's hopes.

She sold her sea chest, too. _That_ dress might have been saved from the fire, but now it's stuffed at the bottom of a sack with the rest of Maxine's meagre possessions on top.

She feels more guilty about the inevitable creases than abandoning her fiancé.

Arcadia's harbour isn't busy, but there are a few ships docked here that might take a likely looking lad.

In canvas trousers and a baggy linen shirt, with her hair cropped short, she makes a convincing enough boy.

She hopes.

Maxine has found growing up to be an attritional process.

When she was a child, scrambling up the rigging of her father's sloop and gazing out at endless ocean on the horizon, her world seemed so full of possibilities.

As time went on and she began to understand the expectations placed on the only child of Ryan Caulfield, textile trader, she began to realise that she had very few choices available to her.

She learned just a few months ago that her destiny had already been decided by her parents. Maxine's marriage into the Graham family had been ordained long before she knew of their existence as anything other than trading rivals.

Now Caulfield and Graham are trading partners, at the bargain price of Maxine's future. 

When she turned eighteen aboard a merchant ship from Ireland bound for the Americas and a fiancé she's never so much as glimpsed, she realised that she had, in fact, two choices.

She could submit to the will of everyone else, or she could leave everything she's ever known behind and try to make her own way in the world.

They took her as prone to seasickness, aboard the _Venture_. But that wasn't the reason she could be found retching over the side of the ship so often.

She ran one night in a tiny port she never learned the name of. She took passage on the first ship out. That's how she made it to Arcadia.

She came here a penniless, disgraced young woman.

She'll leave that person behind her, when she goes to make her own destiny on the waves.

If she can find a berth.

Maxine takes a deep breath.

The sun is a fist grinding its knuckles into her exposed head.

Her stomach threatens revolt.

Max heaves her sack up onto her shoulder, grabs hold of her shrinking courage, and heads into the harbour to find her future.

* * *

Chloe Price reckons it's a nice, warm day. Pity she might not be around long enough to enjoy all of it.

She's sprawled out in the bow of _Pompidou's_ jolly boat, arms draped across the gunwale.

"Beautiful day, huh? Shame about the breeze."

Justin pauses in his rowing. "There isn't one."

Hayden halts, too. He rolls his eyes. "That's her point. Can't use the sail."

"Oh! Yeah!"

Near the prow, Jacob Fletcher snaps, "Get a move on, there! No one told you to stop rowing."

Fletcher's the _Pompidou's_ first mate. He's six feet of sullen arse. If he wasn't such a skilled navigator, and a favourite of Captain Bowers, something like this would've happened much sooner.

Chloe says, "Well, lads. He's pulling rank. Nothing I can do about that until we get to shore."

Which is not too distant. It's a rocky spit of land, barely poking out above the sea. It's a far cry from the pleasures of Arcadia, where the _Pompidou_ is harboured.

Still.

They're a mile from Arcadia and anyone who might even think of interrupting. There's enough flat ground here. Chloe would much rather be getting drunk in a dockside tavern, but this rock better suits the current purpose.

Chloe meets Fletcher's eye. "Don't suppose you'll just accept my apology...?"

Fletcher spits over the side. "After what you called me? Where half the crew could hear? If this was the Navy, I'd have had you flogged."

Chloe sighs. "Well, row on. Fletcher's in a hurry."

Hayden says, "That's a shame, too. Death comes to us all, soon enough. No need to race to meet it."

Justin asks, innocently, "What _did_ you call him?"

"Inequipped to function as my mate."

Fletcher growls, "That's _not_ what you-"

Chloe waves a languid hand. "I may not've used those _exact_ words, but that was the...thrust of it."

Fletcher says, "You're a lazy, arrogant whelp, Price. You're a fucking curse on our ship. I'll enjoy putting you down."

Hayden grunts, "Ha! Sounds like you made unwelcome advances, Mr Fletcher. Pity it's come to this. Given your confidence, I suppose you picked pistols? You know her aim's shit."

"You wound me, Hayden!"

"You'd need to be this close to wound _me_ , with anything short of a cannon."

"Is that any way to talk to your third mate? I'll have to think about cutting your rum ration."

"You won't do that."

"Uh, no! But I'll _think_ about it. That's how upset I am."

Justin mumbles, "Be nice, Hayden. Chloe's alright."

Chloe smiles. "Not to worry, Justin. Hayden's just teasing."

Justin says, "It's a shame Fletcher picked pistols. You could be in trouble, Chloe."

Chloe sighs and tips her head back. She grins up at the clear blue.

There's a pause. Just the sounds of the sea and the oars and Fletcher thinking furiously.

At length he asks, "What if I picked swords?"

Justin says, cheerfully, "Oh, then you'd be _dead_. Chloe's Hell and every devil in it with a blade."

Chloe reaches beneath her leg and scratches industriously.

Fletcher's voice sounds ever so slightly strained when he asks, "Hayden? You've a gun there?"

"What? Why, so I do."

Chloe stops scratching. She moves her head just enough to look at the men. Otherwise she remains statue-like.

Justin looks puzzled. Hayden's smiling pleasantly. Behind them, Fletcher's sweating.

"I'll split one share of the next ship we take. Evenly between the three of us. Lend me that weapon."

Hayden puts up his oar. Justin lazily follows suit.

Hayden frowns and rubs his jaw. "Now, Mr Fletcher. You're suggesting that for a third of a share of a ship we've not taken yet, I should let you murder someone you're honour bound to duel? A woman, no less?"

Chloe snarls, "What the fuck are you doing, Hayden?"

"Sorry, Chloe. But-"

"Murder's one thing, but I'll have none of this 'she's just a woman' shit, you hear me? From any of you."

Justin looks stung. "You know I never would!"

Chloe softens her voice. "I know, Justin. You're a good...what's that word our passenger uses? God, that'll annoy me all day."

Fletcher snarls, "It won't, I promise. Hayden! Give me the fucking pistol!"

Chloe blinks. "Oh, sorry! Please do go on plotting my death. I'll just be here, thinking. Damn! It's on the tip of my tongue, too."

Hayden tugs the weapon from his belt. He stares down at it.

Justin slowly frowns.

Fletcher gets up. He crouches and shuffles towards Hayden, reaching out eagerly.

Chloe tenses.

Justin suddenly cries, "Comrade! That's it! Miss Amber's always saying about cama-rad-erie."

Chloe laughs. "You've got it! Thanks, Justin. See, that's an idea that Fletchy's never really understood."

Hayden stands up. He turns so he's side on between Chloe and Fletcher.

Fletcher stares at him. "Hayden, give me that-"

Hayden rolls his eyes. "You're a bastard, Fletcher. No one but Captain Bowers likes you. And a third share for this gun? She already gave us more than that to slip her _that_ one."

Chloe raises the weapon from beneath her leg. She cocks it and aims it at Fletcher's chest.

She says, "Just against the eventuality you were a coward and a traitor. Who could've guessed?"

Justin says, "Well, you must've done. And Rachel's been saying that for _weeks_."

"Good point."

Justin beams at her. Hayden shakes his head.

Fletcher gapes at them. "You wouldn't dare! It's a-against the code. We said swords-"

"Well, Jake. How about this? I suppose if you want to take your chances surviving on that little island, I won't shoot you in the back."

Fletcher curses them until Chloe yawns and her knuckle whitens on the trigger. He chooses to scramble over the side of the boat and into the sea.

Maybe she'll get to enjoy the day, after all.

Chloe eases the hammer down and puts the pistol in her lap. "Back to _Pompidou_ , lads. Want me to spell you at the oars?"

Hayden chuckles. "Wouldn't hear of it, Miss Price. Leave that to us."

"Ales are on me, then."

Justin nods happily. "We'll take you up on that, Chloe. Thanks!"

Chloe leans back against the sun-warmed wood. She sighs happily. "No problem. I'm just being camaraderous."

* * *

Rachel Amber tries not to sigh as she walks through Arcadia's dusty streets.

This is relatively easy to manage since one cause of her frustration is also an impediment to sighing. And sneezing. And _breathing_.

She's been aboard the _Pompidou_ for less than two months. She hadn't quite realised what a state of bliss being without a corset was until she got back into one.

Rachel has had other things on her mind, admittedly. Like the collapse of her family's business. And her mother being confined to a debtors' prison, after her father's conversation with a loaded gun.

She's not sure what her father said, but his musket gave one devastating retort.

Rachel loosens the death grip on the handle of her parasol. She takes a minute to gather up her skirts before climbing the steps to the door of the governor's residence.

Governor Luis DaCosta is the reason for the corset and petticoat and confounding layers of silk and linen that clammily embrace her under the Caribbean sun.

One has to look respectable when calling on Spain's representative in Arcadia. Even if one is affiliated with pirates and one is really calling on the governor's son, Daniel, because Don Luis will not do business with a woman.

Rachel puts on a beatific smile and tugs on the bell pull.

What she needs is almost in her grasp. She just has to stay in character for another hour or two.

When the DaCostas' butler arrives, he finds a young, perfectly appointed and softly spoken young gentlewoman.

"Is Daniel DaCosta available?"

She's ushered into a blessedly cool sitting room and left for five minutes.

This proves just enough time to figure out how to sit down in this outfit before Daniel bustles in.

Daniel's a remarkably pleasant young man, considering he's nobility.

He smiles at her shyly. "Miss Amber. S-so nice to see you again."

He truly is sweet. But Rachel has given up on sweetness. It's incompatible with her true desire.

"Daniel. I'm afraid I'm pressed for time. I hate to be rude, but...do you have it?"

Daniel reaches into his waistcoat and produces a cream-coloured envelope. "This is it. I have to say, I...do not wish to give this to you."

Rachel smiles. "That's because you're a good man. But this isn't a good world. Which is why people like your father make things like that for people like..."

"The infamous Captain Bowers?"

No. Like Rachel Dawn Amber.

"Precisely."

"But why must _you_ take such risks, when-"

"Because I must. And because-"

"It is not a good world."

Rachel nods.

Daniel sighs. He gives her the envelope. "Please...Rachel. I want you to promise to stay safe."

There's no such thing as safety. There never was.

"Oh, Daniel. That sounds a bit dull, don't you think?"

He chuckles. "It was a foolish thing to ask."

"No. It's sweet. Thank you, Daniel. For everything."

That's how she leaves him, smiling fondly after her as she walks away.

It's easy to ignore the corset and all the sweaty layers of her dress on her walk to the tavern where Frank waits.

The letter in her bag brings her a vital step closer to her desire: giving the Prescotts a taste of the suffering they've put her family through before she sends as many of them as she can to Hell.

Now to arrange things with Captain Frank Bowers.

She thinks about the pistol in her bag.

Rachel Amber smiles.

It's a beautiful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> I'd like to apologise for the title. But I never will.
> 
> I'm not _really_ about to get into another multi-part story when I don't have enough time to write the other three I've got going as it is.
> 
> But once again I find that an idle thought has become a bit too insistent to ignore, and here we are.
> 
> Rather than put this in a metaphorical drawer, I thought it might be fun to throw this out there as a pilot. Like, if you're into it, maybe I'll develop it to series. If not, it can just be a little oddity that sits here that I might eventually go back to one day. 
> 
> Fair warning: it probably won't see much development until I've finished at least one other thing. Because I need to finish some things.
> 
> But, yeah. Please do let me know what you think. And thanks again!


	2. Authority

Rachel finds the infamous Captain Frank Bowers drinking cheap ale with some of _Pompidou's_ crew in one of Arcadia's least reputable dockside taverns.

Rachel takes a moment to adjust from the heat and glare of the day to the sweaty gloom of the interior. She takes a not very deep breath, curses her corset, and walks boldly into the crowded taproom.

Rachel ignores all the heads that turn, focusing all her attention on Frank. He watches her entrance with feigned indifference.

Rachel smiles in greeting. "Good day, Captain."

"Ah, there she is!" Frank gestures grandly to the other five men at his table, all members of _Pompidou's_ crew. "Our passenger!"

Rachel sweeps her gaze across the other faces and maintains a pleasant smile.

"Join us, Rachel! Tell us how this wasn't a complete waste of my time."

Frank Bowers is a tall, sinewy man. He has hair that can only be described as yellow and a beard a shade darker, which makes it look dirty. He's not bad looking, though. He cuts quite the figure in his frock coat and silk shirt.

Even a modest artist could produce a fine portrait with Frank as the subject. And Rachel believes you could write songs about the man you would imagine from such a portrait.

The man himself? Well, it's not even noon and the infamous Captain Bowers is already drunk.

Rachel ignores Frank when he pats his knee expectantly. She takes a seat from another table. Frank's right-handed. She sits on Frank's left.

Frank smiles bitterly. "I see. Spending time with the governor has you looking down your nose at me?"

Frank's voice is thick and angry. The other men get quiet. They watch carefully, sensing change in the air.

Frank isn't just drunk, she realises, he's pissed. There's a glint in his eyes, a tension in the muscles of his jaw. Rachel's not sure if he's more angry that she convinced him to come to Arcadia or that she didn't sit on his lap.

Looking back, having sex with Frank was a mistake. It's made him less pliable since she made it clear that she was _not_ his woman just because they'd shared a bed.

Rachel's taken pains to become popular aboard the _Pompidou_. But her closest allies aren't at this table. And Frank's a bitter sort of drunk. Perhaps she should have been more careful, but she's tired of stroking his ego.

Rachel tries to be reasonable, even though she thinks Frank's past reason at this point. She starts to say, "I wasn't-"

Frank bangs his hand on the table. "Yes you were! You think I don't know your type? Sweet words until you get what you want, then off to the next-"

Rachel decides to think while he rants.

She sits stiffly upright, not that the damned corset gives her many options. She maintains nominal eye contact with Frank, but she watches the crew as best she can.

More smirks than frowns. Not ideal.

The pistol in her bag sits heavy on her thighs.

It's not a good option. The pistol is loaded, but the pan needs priming before it will fire. There are five pirates here who are currently unlikely to give her the time she needs to murder their captain.

Good thing the pistol is a last resort. Rachel's always found words a powerful remedy for life's problems.

The letter in her bag contains some very powerful words indeed.

When Frank pauses for breath, red-faced and sweating, Rachel says, "Captain Bowers. I was merely going to say that I wasn't seeing the governor, but his son."

She pauses there, giving him time to make a mistake.

His swiftness to oblige her is the only time she's been pleased by that particular trait of his.

Frank says, "That is hilarious! You mean you came all this way? Dragged my crew out here with your promises, and you've failed-"

"Oh, I have what I came for. And I have a real opportunity for these fine gentlemen."

Rachel looks at each of them in turn. "I can deliver into our grasp a score of ships ripe for the plucking and full of plunder. Inside six months, you'll be rich men. And it will all be legal."

Frank shakes his head. "You got it? You actually did it! Ha! Let's see it."

Rachel allows herself a smile. "Not quite yet. We've the rest of my plan to discuss."

Frank's left hand clutches a leather jack of ale. His right is out of sight but Rachel supposes he's clutching a knife.

Frank leans in towards her. His voice is in that low, trembly stage which suggests violence is near.

"I'm the captain. There's no discussion to be had. Give me my fucking letter."

Rachel smiles. She reaches into her bag and carefully produces the envelope. She puts it on the table, out of Frank's reach and with Governor DaCosta's seal facing up.

Frank growls something, but Rachel cuts him off. "Gentlemen. Do you know what this is?"

Felipe, the Second Mate, stares at the seal. He whispers, "Mother of God! That's a letter of marque."

Rachel nods. "Yes. A letter of marque and reprisal."

Rachel particularly savours the feel of that last word on her tongue

Felipe laughs, incredulous. "Captain! I could go back to Spain. I could go home, again."

Frank snarls, " _Pompidou's_ our home! I'm the captain, and that's my letter!"

He reaches for it. Rachel puts her hand on the envelope.

"No, it isn't. Do I need to explain how this works, Frank?"

He glares at her.

She wonders if that's what she looked like, when she found her father's note. When she found she had an enemy. When she learned to truly hate.

There's a sour feeling in her stomach, and her heart is racing. Sweat seems to form pools in every crook and hollow of her body.

Frank is set to kill her. It's a pity, but it's not entirely unexpected.

Rachel thinks of her parents. She thinks of the Prescotts.

She keeps her hand on the envelope. She looks Frank in the eye, unblinking.

Frank sinks back into his chair. He takes a long swallow of ale, staring at Rachel unblinking. He slaps his empty jack on the table, belches, and leers at her.

Franks says, "It's authorisation from the government of Spain for Captain Frank Bowers and all who sail with him to wage war on Spain's enemies. It means we can put in to Spanish ports without having to hide what we are. It's legalised piracy, boys. That's how it works, isn't it Miss Amber?"

"Not quite. The letter authorises the _Pompidou_. Not you, Frank. Why, the letter would be valid no matter who was captain!"

There's a moment of stillness, the kind of stillness that comes when seven people are calculating odds and trying not to make any sudden moves.

Frank raises his right hand. He is, in fact, holding a knife. He places it on the table beside him, a mirror to Rachel's positioning of the letter.

Around the table, the pirates shift in response to Frank and the tension soaking into the air. Hands slip below the table. There's the serpentine sound of steel against cloth and leather. There's the click-clack of a pistol being cocked.

Frank smirks. Rachel just waits.

Frank shakes his head. "What a waste. You could've been my queen, Rachel. But this...this Prescott obsession of yours. I thought you'd outgrow it. I really did." He sighs and gestures theatrically to his men. "Never let it be said that Captain Bowers was anything less than generous. You give me that letter now, and I'll let you walk out the door."

Rachel raises an eyebrow. "Oh?"

Frank laughs. "I believe I gave you that dress, though. I'll be keeping that. Strip."

A couple of them chuckle. Rachel makes a note of their relative positions. The chuckles aren't encouraging, but the texture of silence of the others, and where they're sitting...

Rachel suspects she yet has some room to maneuver.

"I have a counter proposal. Have any of you heard of the Prescotts?" She turns slightly, facing the unsmiling bosun, Trevor. "I'm quite sure _you_ have."

Trevor spits on the floor. "Murdering bastards. Sean Prescott had my uncle killed."

"Yes. That's what he does. But the Prescotts are _rich_ murdering bastards. They've built up the largest independent shipping operation in the New world."

Frank chuckles. "And they stole her family's business. And she wants us to wage war on them and ignore any fat Spanish merchants that might cross our paths. She isn't going to make anyone rich. She's just looking to die, and she's doesn't care who she takes with her. We can use that letter. But we don't need you, Rachel."

"Oh? I know every detail of the Prescotts' current shipping operations in the region. Including where the shipment of gold bound for England is going to be next week."

That gets their attention. Out of the corner of her eye, Rachel sees Trevor shift his weight.

Frank becomes very still. He flicks a glance at the others. Rachel isn't sure what _he_ sees, but she scores it two each, one undecided.

"What gold? You're lying."

"The Prescotts are carrying English gold. As part of a government contract. You see, I have a source on the inside of their operations. And you're right, Frank. I'm not really interested in money. But taking all of theirs would be a fine revenge. I don't care so much about where the money _goes_ , though. So I'll waive most of my shares."

Rachel reaches out and takes hold of Jacques' cup. Jacques is no lover of nobility, thankfully including those of his homeland. "May I?" She doesn't look away from Frank.

Jacques chuckles. "Help yourself."

Three. Rachel smiles and takes a sip of ale. She makes an appreciative sound, even though it's vile. She's thirsty.

Frank snorts. "You're a passenger. You don't get any shares in plunder."

Rachel's smile widens. "Passengers don't. But the captain does."

Frank stares at her, jaw slack. After a second, he starts to snigger, then to laugh. "You cannot be serious. You think that my crew will take _you_ as their captain?"

"Ah, Frank. You're an unambitious drunk. You've got no vision, no purpose. I've been on the _Pompidou_ nearly two months. How many of them do you think are still _your_ crew? Shall we find out?"

Frank looks around the table again. He sighs. "No. I think-"

He scoops up his knife and lunges at her. Rachel doesn't flinch. The corset at least proves useful in helping her maintain the illusion of poised perfection. Appearances matter, after all. Even if one is about to die.

The knife doesn't quite reach her chest. Trevor grabs Frank's wrist and hauls his arm back before the strike connects.

Rachel sips warm, disgusting ale as the new hierarchy is sorted out. Because everyone else in the tavern, everyone who didn't fade away when the blades came out, is watching.

Appearances matter all the more when one becomes a pirate captain.

Well. A privateer captain. Rachel scoops up the letter of marque that will give _Pompidou_ legal protection and safe harbour in Spanish ports. As long as they prey on English ships.

Which suits Rachel. English ships mean _Prescott_ ships.

By the time she's finished her ale, Felipe and Trevor have stripped Frank of his weapons and pinned him to his chair. Jacques has a knife pricking the kidney of...John? Or is it Dan? His pistol is pointed at the last man. One of Frank's most loyal drinking companions amongst the general crew. Rachel never bothered learning his name.

Frank curses and spits until Rachel produces her own pistol, checks the load, and primes the pan. She cocks it and points it at Frank's chest.

Frank growls, "This is mutiny! You can't do this. It's fucking mutiny!"

"Frank. Please. This is just embarrassing now. You were quite happy to take my money and betray _me_. Are you really going to sit there whining about how unfair it is because you've lost?"

"The rest of the crew won't stand for this! Fletcher won't stand for this! You can't-"

"Fletcher's gone, Frank. He decided to settle a personal difference with Chloe Price this morning. He chose swords."

Trevor winces. "Oh, well. Mean bugger, anyway. No one'll miss him."

Frank gapes at her. "You can't take _Pompidou_! Rachel, don't-"

"Hush, now." Rachel sighs. "You didn't leave me much choice, Frank. But don't worry. I'm not going to kill you. Or those loyal to you."

She feels the tension shift. Their relief is obvious. Even the men who've thrown their lot in with her are glad they don't have to kill their former captain and drinking companions.

Rachel feels a pang of envy. There's no relief for her. Just more problems to solve, more steps to take. Always more, until she can't take one step further. Rachel's not unrealistic. There's no future in this vendetta. It ends when they kill her. She doesn't really believe it'll take the Prescotts six months to do that. She'll be lucky if she survives three.

"Take their weapons. And tie them to their chairs. We don't want them making any mischief for us before we get back to the ship."

She and Jacques keep the others covered as Trevor and Felipe go to work on Frank.

Rachel frowns. Something's not quite right.

"Oh! Frank? I believe those clothes you're wearing are a captain's clothes. I'm afraid they belong to me, now. Strip him, if you would, gentlemen?"

Franks struggles and calls her every vile name he knows. Rachel takes note of the more interesting ones.

When they're bound and gagged she makes a point of approaching the tavern keeper.

"I hope you don't mind looking after them for a few hours?" She places Frank's coin purse on the bar.

The tavern keeper scoops it up and hides it behind the bar. He grins at her. "Better than cleaning up bloodstains. No trouble at all, miss."

"I'm not a 'miss'. I'm Captain Rachel Amber. Remember the name."

She rejoins the others. Trevor asks, "What now, cap'n? Back to the _Pompidou_?"

Rachel looks at Frank, who strains against his bonds and glares his hate at her. "You can't be captain if you don't have a ship. We'll need to discuss matters with the rest of the crew. Then we've a ship to chase down and gold to be liberated."

Trevor grins. "And Prescotts to punish."

Rachel nods. "Oh, yes. I vow this, Trevor. The Prescotts are going to suffer."

Rachel heads out into the morning blaze, her crew at her back.

Time to see about securing her ship.

Then burning the fucking corset.

And taking her revenge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Just a quick update to tide you over. We'll catch up with Max and Chloe next time. I can't promise any regular schedule for this one yet, but it's not going to be forgotten!


	3. Conflict Resolution

Arcadia's harbour is large, and it's getting larger. Between the construction work and the people attending to trade, repair, resupply, or more personal needs, Max has to work to even get close to any of the ships she thinks are likely.

Which, factoring out the small fishing vessels and the Spanish Navy frigate, leaves only a few merchantmen. Likely to travel to the Americas, from here, and then? Who knows.

It's a terrifying thought. Little Maxine Caulfield out in the wide cruel world.

Alone.

It's exciting, too. She holds onto that giddy flutter in her stomach as tightly as she does the sack with all her worldly goods as she weaves her way through the crowds.

She finds excitement and its cousin, hope, are harder to cling to after talking to the first mate of the _Maria_.

It's more accurate to say that Max yells. She stands on the dock, citing her experience of working square-riggers and requesting work as politely as she can manage at full volume.

When she's done, _Maria's_ mate just spits at her feet with impressive accuracy from the brig's rail and turns away.

Maybe that's the worst it goes, but the best isn't much better.

The last ship she tries is a sturdy fluyt called the _Langewijk_. The captain's a worn and weatherbeaten forty, sympathetic even in his blunt refusal.

"I have all the crew I need. But..."

"But?"

"I carry molasses to Massachussets. There, I will lose crew. I carry rum back. I will water here. Perhaps then..." He spreads his hands.

Max manages a weak smile. That's too long to wait. "Thank you for your time, captain. I hope you have fair weather on your run."

She picks up her sack and walks to the gangplank.

"Young man?"

She looks back. The captain frowns.

"You will try the brig?"

Max lools over to the ship in question, a lean vessel with masts aggressively raked. Even sitting in the dock she looks _fast_. A jolly boat is being rowed towards it from the direction of the sea.

She looks back to the captain. "I will, thank you."

He shakes his head. "Do not."

"You think they won't take me?"

"They may. It would be bad. It is a bad ship."

"Oh." It looks a trim vessel to Max. It looks like a way out. "Thank you, captain."

Max can feel his eyes on her as she walks away. So she pretends she's going to the other side of the harbour until she's lost in the crowd.

She doubles back as soon as she can and makes for what she hopes will be her new home.

Max has good eyes, so she spies the name _Pompidou_ before long. It's an odd name, but a good one. And she's a beautiful ship. Her lines are sleek and her hull and rigging look well-maintained.

Max supposes the Dutch captain was jealous. _Pompidou's_ one of the finest brigs she's seen.

Max finds a spot to loiter in and watches the _Pompidou_ for a while.

She watches until a beautiful woman in a silk dress sweeps past her, three tough-looking sailors at her back. They make their way onto the _Pompidou_. 

Max feels reassured at the sight of a woman passenger, even if her arrival causes quite a commotion on deck. Max waits another minute, a new and terrible idea forming in her mind.

This is her last chance to find a berth today. Maybe there'll be more ships tomorrow. And maybe there'll be a search party looking for her, on one of them. The sooner she leaves, the safer she'll be.

She needs to get onboard the _Pompidou_. She can't afford to be turned down again.

Whatever commotion the woman in the silk dress has stirred up isn't dying down quickly. The crew are distracted.

Max looks the ship over again. Her eyes linger on the anchor chains before she returns her attention to the argument on deck.

Max rubs some of the sweat off her neck. She considers her options.

It doesn't take long. She doesn't have any.

"Let's hope their captain's a forgiving sort," she murmurs.

She finds a private spot a few streets away. She rearranges her possessions in her sack and makes sure it's tied off tight.

Then she heads to the shore, whispers a prayer, and wades out into the water.

* * *

Chloe, Justin, and Hayden are not long finished stowing the jolly boat when the muttering starts.

That Fletcher's not returned hasn't caused much surprise or consternation.

But here's a sight that causes a fair amount of both: Rachel Amber, passenger and sometimes paramour of Captain Bowers, returning to ship with some of the captain's drinking companions, but no sign of the captain.

It's not that fact that riles the crew, not really. It's watching Rachel stride onto deck like she owns it.

But things really get interesting when Trevor appears behind her, carrying what looks suspiciously like Frank's coat.

Chloe groans, "Oh, here we go!"

Chloe remembers a drunken conversation with Rachel. Well, Chloe was drunk, and Rachel was doing a lot of talking. Which was fine, and better than fine, the two of them sprawled on a coil of rope at the prow of the ship and Rachel so beautiful in one of Frank's shirts and the moonlight.

Chloe seems to recall cheerfully agreeing that Rachel would make an excellent captain, and that Chloe would follow her, or go in front of her to clear her way, whatever Rachel preferred.

It occurs to Chloe that she's done just that, tackling Fletcher the way she did. It occurs to Chloe that Rachel might not have wanted Fletcher taught a lesson for being a surly lech, but might have wanted the captain's strongest ally out of the way.

It occurs to Chloe that she's conspired in a mutiny that seemed as good a plan as any that would never happen.

Except now it is.

Rachel walks past Chloe, throwing her a wink in passing, and climbs the steps to the forecastle.

It occurs to Chloe that she's sober. Why did this have to happen when she was sober?

Though she should perhaps moderate her intake of intoxicating spirits and even more intoxicating women in future.

Chloe ignores the crew asking questions in loud voices. She ignores Rachel raising hers to give them answers. She focuses on grabbing Trevor and yanking Frank's coat out of his hands.

"Hey! Chloe, give me that-"

"Shut up. Go stand by Rachel. No naked steel, unless they make a rush. Then you defend the foc'sle until I get there."

"What? The crew isn't going to-"

Chloe doesn't want to shout, so just leans in and hisses, "I'm giving you an _order_ , you miserable lubber! _Go_!"

Trevor looks around at the crew gathering beneath the raised deck Rachel's perched on. He pales. "Shit. I'm on it, Chloe."

Chloe paws through Frank's pockets as she hustles over to Hayden and Justin who are standing off to one side of the...mob. Chloe hates having to even _think_ that word.

She digs out a key, at fucking last, and tosses the coat over the side. "Hayd. Pistol. Give. Then take Justin and secure the weapons locker. Cutlasses, pistols and a musket each. No one else gets access except me or Rachel. Do it!"

Justin blinks sleepily. "Huh? But I want to listen to Rachel..."

Hayden frowns. "Chloe...what the fuck is this?"

"This is making sure we're on the winning side, Hayden. Exactly where you like to be." Chloe slips him the key and yanks the pistol from his belt.

He hesitates.

"Extra rum rations for a fucking month! Move!"

Hayden grins. "All I needed to hear!"

Chloe would sag with relief if she hadn't just sent the two people she trusts the most away, leaving her on deck with exactly two shots and near fifty confused, angry men between her and Rachel.

Chloe knows Rachel's good with people. She knows that Rachel can handle a crowd. She's pretty sure that if Frank can run a crew, Rachel can too. And no doubt do a much better job.

But a crew is not a crowd and a crowd is not a mob. Chloe's seen what happens when a mob goes to work. She doesn't know if Rachel understands how fragile the bonds between shipmates can be.

Chloe remembers what happened to her father when he tried to face down an angry mob.

It occurs to her that she'll be damned if she'll let something similar happen to Rachel.

Chloe watches the men watching Rachel. She doesn't pay much attention to Rachel's speech. It sounds like a good one, though. Most of them switch from angry muttering to agreeable muttering.

Rachel's promising them gold and safe harbour in Spanish ports. That bit sounds familiar, from Rachel's private talk with Chloe that night. God, she's never drinking rum again.

Unless she survives this, in which case she's drinking a whole fucking barrel.

Rachel does just fine at winning over the crew, her voice as alluring as anything she says. She does just fine for as long as she keeps talking.

It's when she pauses for a breath too long that the problems start.

A rough voice bellows, "Is this how cheaply we sell our brotherhood?"

Harold, the gunner's mate, shoves his way to the front of the crowd and calls for silence.

He gets it, too.

He just raises his voice enough for everyone to hear him. He says, "We all found a place here for different reasons. It was Captain Bowers who gave us that place. Not this...woman. I'll take no part in a mutiny. That's what this is. A mutiny!" He jabs a finger at Rachel. "Where is our captain?"

Rachel gives him an imperious look. " _Pompidou_ 's captain is standing in front of you. Frank Bowers is alive and safe in port. You found your way here because you had nowhere else to go. Frank took you in, but he was never going to take you anywhere. How many of you have a safe port to go home to? " Rachel gestures to the new first mate. "I'll take Felipe home. I'm giving you all the chance to _build_ a home. Any one of you who doesn't like the idea of being in my crew can leave with everything that's rightfully theirs. There will be no reprisals. No blood spilled. Anyone who wants a future? Welcome to my crew."

Chloe thinks it's a pretty good speech. But Chloe's an old hand at pirating. She's survived nearly a year of this life. In that time she's learned that change doesn't come without some blood getting spilled. She tucks a pistol under her arms and wipes the sweat off her palm. She repeats the process for her other hand. She waits.

Harold doesn't leave her waiting long. As the others argue over Rachel's proposal, he just spits on the deck. He raises his hands. Chloe takes long, slow breaths as the crew quiet themselves to listen to Harold.

He says, "I don't like it. And I won't leave." He bunches his scarred hands into fists. "I'll not serve under some mad doxy who thinks she can play at being our leader. What does she know?" He turns back to Rachel. "What do you know about what this crew needs?"

Rachel raises an eyebrow. She looks utterly calm, entirely unmoved. Chloe has to force herself to watch the crew and not just stare at Rachel.

She says, "I intend to lead them to riches, prosperity, and...a way out."

Harold growls, "Well, I intend to drag you down here and give you a thrashing. Then I'll get the real captain back. And I'm not alone in that intention. Am I, men?"

There's a swelling tide of angry voices. They're not all for Harold, not even close. But if this keeps up any longer, it threatens to sweep them away from Rachel and into violence.

Harold clearly decides it's time to take action. He moves towards the steps to the foc'sle. He moves towards Rachel.

Chloe looks at the pistols in her hands and grimaces. Hayden wasn't wrong earlier. She's not much of a shot. And if she shoots Harold, she'll set all the simmering tensions to boiling over. There'll be a fight. Might be none of them could survive that.

Chloe raises the pistol in her right hand and discharges it into the air.

It shuts everyone up, aside from a few startled oaths. She finds herself being scrutinised by fifty pairs of eyes.

There's a moment's stillness, delicate as crystal.

Chloe's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She freezes.

Rachel doesn't. "Was there something you wanted to say, second mate?"

Rachel smiles at her.

The promotion is nice. It doesn't really matter, but it's nice. That smile, though? Genuine, relieved, and...trusting.

Chloe wants to see more of that smile. That's enough to get Chloe moving again.

"Well, Captain Amber, I was just thinking how reasonable what you were saying was. And that there's no need for things to be done unreasonably. We can all just talk things out and go our separate ways peacefully. Right, lads? So, in that spirit, Harold? What say you shut your rude fucking mouth before I shut it for you?" 

Harold's about Chloe's height, but much heavier. Most of the bulk is muscle. He's a solid man when the ship's guns are firing, but he's prone to being fractious the rest of the time. Chloe's not surprised he was the first one to make trouble. She just hopes he's willing to ride it out.

He stays outwardly calm, in spite of the hard, ugly look in his eye. "What's this? Are we not free men? Are we not brothers? Will my voice not be heard? Are you going to shoot me for speaking up, girl?"

Chloe feels a grin spread across her face. The crewmen nearest Harold shuffle away.

"Ha! Do I look like your brother, Harold? No room for me in that lovely little picture you painted, is there? But that's not why I'm calling you out. You've offered insult and threat to Captain Amber. And, now, to me."

Harold looks for help from the crowd. No one seems willing to intervene just yet.

But if Chloe's going to keep the crowd from becoming a mob, she's going to have to keep their attention. She's going to have to give them a show.

"Here's what I propose! We settle this, right here, right now, with these." Chloe holds up the pistols, careful not to point the loaded one at anybody.

"I...won't let you goad me into a fight, girl."

That inspires jeers of derision from the crew. Which bodes well for what will happen if Chloe survives the next few minutes.

"You don't have a choice, _boy_." He bristles at the word. Her grin widens. "You could have settled for talk, but you wanted a thrashing. Well, I'm about to oblige you. But, good news! We'll start as soon as you have your weapon. And _you_ get the loaded one."

That inspires a chorus of chuckles and the sounds of rapid conversation and bets being made.

Harold looks suspicious. "I don't understand, why would you-"

Rachel cuts him off. "She's giving you the loaded gun because it's the only way a coward like you will meet a challenge from a woman like Chloe Price."

The crew like that. Harold really doesn't.

Maybe Rachel wasn't quite ready for this business, but it seems she learns quickly. Whatever the outcome of this fight, Harold's been made to look a fool. Rachel should be able to manage things from here, even if Chloe's bleeding on deck.

Chloe grins up at Rachel. Rachel looks composed, but Chloe thinks she sees a flash of worry in her eyes.

Rachel mouths a single word to her: "Win."

Chloe nods like it's a sure thing. She returns her attention to Harold and to not pissing herself.

The crew have backed away, leaving the two of them with ten paces worth of clear deck.

Harold looks worried. Chloe waits until that worry starts to look like fear. She waits until he opens his mouth, then she yells, "Here we go! Catch!"

Chloe tosses Harold the loaded pistol.

Everyone else watches the gun.

So they all miss it when she changes grip on her own pistol, so she's holding the barrel, and starts forward at a run.

By the time Harold's recovered from the catch, she's almost on him.

He yelps in shock and tries to aim the pistol at her head. She ducks under his arm before he can pull the trigger and drives her shoulder into his chest. She's lighter than him, but she hits him hard. She knocks the air out of his lungs and staggers.

He stumbles back. She follows him. She stays close, giving him no time to recover, no time to aim.

He tries to bring the muzzle of his pistol to bear. He's still trying to shoot her. Which shows that he's spent more time below deck tending cannon than he has brawling.

Because while a pistol shot is deadly, an unloaded gun at close range is nearly as dangerous. Pistols come in various forms and sizes. These ones are long, heavy things, made of iron and oak.

Up close like this, they're difficult to bring to bear or aim with any accuracy.

Up close like this, they're excellent clubs.

Chloe feints left, away the muzzle of his gun. Harold swings his arm in the direction he thinks she's moving, and Chloe lunges in. Harold tries to step back, create some room, but that's exactly what Chloe was waiting for. She goes for Harold's left knee with the butt of her pistol, just as he's transferring his weight onto that leg.

There's a crunch when she hits him. Harold howls in pain as his leg gives out and he sprawls on the deck.

Chloe takes a half step to the right and bashes him across the skull. Not hard enough to crack anything, just enough to make sure he isn't going to be moaning about his broken knee through the rest of Rachel's attempts to win over the crew.

She watches him drop, satisfied. She picks up the fallen pistol and checks the pan. Still some powder in it. The pistol might even fire.

She tries to face all the staring eyes boldly. "Anybody else feel the need to be rude?"

There's a moment of quiet. The crew look at Harold and at each other.

Rachel raises her voice before anyone else can. "Gentlemen! There's work to be done. Rachel points at a face in the crowd. "Robert, see to Harold's wounds." She points at another. "Ned? I want you to gather his belongings. Harold's going to shore. Any of our comrades who want to join him have half an hour to do so. You'll get your due, minus a cracked skull. Though in the interests of fairness, I say that anyone who wants one of those may apply to second mate Price."

It's not funny. Not really, but the tension that's been building has to go somewhere, and it comes out in their laughter. Chloe tries to scowl fiercely but she's almost giddy with relief and the excitement from the fight.

Rachel lets them laugh. She smiles. "Half an hour! After that, we're leaving. Do you know why, gentlemen? Lady?" Rachel winks at Chloe again. She tilts her head and cups a hand behind her ear. "Because I hear a fat galleon full of gold out there, calling to me! Samuel! Can you hear it?"

Samuel grins. "Aye, cap'n! It's singing a sweet, sweet song!"

Rachel laughs. "Good ear, Samuel! What are the rest of you waiting for? Do you want someone else to get to the gold first?"

The crew roars as one, "No!"

And just like that, they're hers.

Rachel sucks in a breath and roars, "Then get to work! I want Arcadia to be a speck on the horizon before nightfall!"

Chloe watches almost all of them get to work, pushing aside doubt and putting their faith in Rachel's promises.

It'll take more than a single busted head to save their skin if Rachel doesn't come through with that gold. But that's a worry for another day. For now, Chloe's alive and, once they've got Harold and the few men set on leaving with him off the ship, she's going to get started on that barrel.

Rachel climbs down onto the deck and heads, with Felipe at her back, towards the captain's cabin. _Her_ cabin.

She pauses when she draws level with Chloe. "Felipe? Give me a minute."

He ducks his head and goes ahead of her.

Rachel says, "Chloe? That's one of the stupidest things I've ever seen."

Chloe blinks. "Uh, well...I didn't really have much time-"

Rachel's hand on her arm silences her. It lingers there, spreading warmth through her body that outstrips even the Caribbean sun.

Rachel says, "It's also one of the bravest. Thank you, Chloe. I need to figure out our course with Felipe, and get out of this dress. But...we'll talk soon."

Chloe's mouth is suddenly dry. She just nods.

Rachel smiles again and strides away.

Chloe's not sure how long she stands there staring at the cabin door. It's Hayden who startles her out of her daze.

"Chloe?"

"Huh? What?"

"Justin and I were very brave and kept the weapons locker secure even when faced with the biggest rat I've ever seen. While I hear you just stood around on deck holding a pistol the wrong way. So, about that rum ration and those ales you talked about..."

Chloe shakes herself. "Right. Ales are going to have to wait. Rum, too. Captain Amber wants us out of port, fast. But later, we're definitely having a big fucking drink."

Hayden grins. "Captain Amber, eh? You really think this is going to work out?"

Chloe thinks about Rachel's hand on her arm. Her face in the moonlight. Her grin in the sunlight.

Chloe claps Hayden on the arm. "We'll make it work out." They head towards the waist of the ship where there a few crewmen milling around. Chloe yells, "Look alive, there! There's provisions to stow. Get to it! And where the fuck did all that water come from? Get it swabbed up." She turns to Hayden and resumes, in a lower voice, "You think there's time to send Justin to get a cat?"

"Honestly? I think that rat got so big by eating our last cat."

Chloe shudders. "Send him to me anyway. There's a few things I want to make sure we have before we leave."

Hayden nods. They both get to work.

Chloe and the remaining crew are kept busy for the rest of the morning. There's a lot to be done, and less hands than usual to do it all.

Still, they're under way just over an hour after Rachel was accepted as captain. It's impressive, but Chloe worries that their speed probably means they've forgotten something important.

It's late afternoon when Chloe's watch finishes. She goes to the hold to make sure everything's where it should be.

That's when she finds the stowaway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> As ever, I've no clue when I'll have an update for you because I really need to go write some other things. But I'm pretty keen to find out what happens next, and none of us get to find out until I write it.
> 
> So it probably won't be _too_ long.
> 
> Until next time, may your days be full of opportunities for plunder!


	4. The Stowaway

Max's faith has always been more rote than deep-rooted.

The morning she slips aboard the _Pompidou_ makes her question her relationship with the Almighty. The way events play out, it seems likely an omniscient being _is_ guiding her destiny.

The way events play out, it would seem likely that that being has a rather twisted sense of humour.

Max doesn't run into any trouble wading through the shallows of Arcadia's shore.

The swim around the harbour wall is difficult, because of the sack she clutches in one hand. But the bag doesn't contain anything _too_ heavy, and she's a strong swimmer. She grew up in Cork, in a little village called Ringaskiddy, and she learned to swim in and around Cork Harbour, where the Atlantic Ocean brushes against you with cold and bitter fingers while you're in it, and stabs you with needles when you leave.

After that, the waters of the Caribbean are more like a pleasant bath than a hardship. And Arcadia's harbour is a tiny thing compared to Cork Harbour, and the _Pompidou_ is berthed close to the other side of the harbour wall, so even with the sack, the swim is manageable.

It's still tiring, though, and when Max has reached _Pompidou's_ bow, rather than resting, she has to try and climb the anchor chain.

The chain isn't a chain at all, but a rope thicker than her thigh. The rope is rough, and wet on the surface, and her hands are wet, and she's only got one to spare. Max has been known to run up rigging, barely using her hands, and she's climbed ropes like this in conditions worse than this, but it's still a difficult climb. 

Although the fear of falling, and of getting caught, put a stutter in her heart and fire in her veins, her hands shake and her head is foggy. She spent much of last night awake, fretting about everything that might happen now that she's only got herself to rely on. Max grew up more on ships than off them, and she reckons she's a good sailor, but she isn't so sure she's good at anything else.

If things don't work out aboard the _Pompidou_ , Max isn't sure what she'll do.

The higher she climbs, inch by precious inch, one arm and both legs wrapped around the rope, her free hand reaching and clutching and pulling, the more Max has to admit that she is not a good daughter, nor a good fiancée, nor, in truth, a good person.

Max isn't sure she deserves the happiness she's chasing, but she's sure that if she doesn't try, if she doesn't take the chance, then she'll find no happiness in whatever sort of life she has left. There's no way back for her. Only forward.

Near the top she pauses for breath and hears, above the drumming of her heart, an argument taking place above. She doesn't make out the words, just an ugly swell of emotion expressed in a multitude of hoarse voices.

She shivers, and nearly slips, and in her panic nearly drops her sack. She takes another moment to cling to the rope like it's her lover. Though she's never had a lover, nor even a kiss, though there were boys who were willing, and more than willing, to oblige even such a skinny, awkward creature as she.

Maxine used to tell herself that she'd wait for true love.

Max tells herself, "Get on with getting off the right end of this rope, before you fall or freeze."

The trouble is, with the furor on deck only making the rashness of her decision to stowaway all the more apparent, Max is no longer sure which end of the rope is the right one.

But she's nearer the top than the bottom, and if it's a choice between riding out a storm on the _Pompidou_ or becoming Mrs Maxine Graham...

Max climbs the last few feet of rope. She doesn't pause this time, just heaves her sack over the taffrail and her body soon after.

She snatches up her sack and scrambles forward in a crouch until she's able to see down into and across the rest of the ship.

Max is at the rear of the ship. The crew is gathered ahead of the main mast, near the forecastle, looking up at the woman from before. Even from here, and even with anger rising palpable in the air between them, Max is struck again by the woman's beauty.

Max has never seen a lovelier face. She feels concerned that the woman is facing off against the crew, and that they're all so angry. She feels a strange imuplse to do... _something_ , to help. But even if she were in a position to help, what help could she be? Max knows the wind, and sails, and rigging, and the sextant and the stars. She even knows how to aim a long nine, come to that, though it's a skill she's thankfully had little use for.

But it seems like that's all she knows, and it's never been enough to help anyone much. She used to think her skills would help her father and his business, that one day she'd captain one of his ships, and then someday his fleet. But in the end, her mother and father both believed that the only useful thing about her was how she could be most advantageously given away in marriage.

A pistol shot startles Max out of her reverie. A tall, lean sailor, with a brace of pistols in his hands, begins shouting at the others. Max decides to stop waiting around. Right now, while everyone's distracted, that means she's got a clear run to the hatch to below decks.

Max ignores all the shouting and rushes down the stairs to the deck. Keeping low and hoping that the beautiful woman standing on the forecastle doesn't spot her, Max creeps to the the hatch. She looks up just once, when it seems like a fight breaks out between the tall sailor and a burly man. Max freezes for a second. The tall sailor is a woman with strawberry blonde hair falling to her shoulders, and Jesus, she's giving the big man a beating he'll remember!

Max quickly looks away, and thrusts her questions to the back of her mind. She descends into the hold.

She drips a trail of water behind her on the deck, but that can't be helped. As she moves into the dark of the cargo hold and hunts for a hiding space to crawl into, she just has to pray that in all the confusion above, no one will question it too closely. Max doesn't intend to hide forever, after all. Just for long enough that the ship is far enough out of port to make turning back impractical.

Max finds enough space behind some casks of salted pork to shove her sack. For herself, she chooses a nook formed between the hull of the ship and the barrels of fresh water.

Wedged into the dark, musty space, with the rank odour of the bilges reaching her, and still soaked through to her skin and full of fear and doubt and prayer, she falls asleep.

It's only when she wakes up to find the ship in motion that she realises how miraculous her success in sneaking aboard the _Pompidou_ was.

It's not long after that that she learns that the Almighty's miracles are performed with a smirk and a laugh at the expense of little lost Irish girls who should really know better.

* * *

Chloe's quest for rum -- that is to say, her inspection of the hold -- is interrupted by an odd sound.

With a mutiny just behind them, and Hayden's tales of giant rats unfortunately fresh in her mind, Chloe's immediate instinct is to switch the lantern to her left hand and draw her knife.

She puts her back to some crates, holds her breath, and listens. She hears the sound again: a faint, arrhythmic clicking.

It's not a rat sound, she thinks. It's not the sound of the new ship's cat, a yowling ball of grey fur, sharp claws, and quick fangs that left Justin bleeding in a dozen places before fleeing into some unknown nook of the ship.

It's not the sound of an aggrieved pirate with murder on his mind and a blade held close to his side so the light reflecting on the steel won't give him away.

No, it sounds more like...

Chloe breathes out quietly. She pads towards the place the sound is coming from and says, not unkindly, to a stack of water barrels, "You should come out, now. You must be freezing. If you don't try anything, I promise I won't gut you. Fair?"

For a moment, the chattering of teeth pauses. A small, young voice stammers, "A-alright. I w-won't t-t-try..."

There's the sound of someone trying to wriggle out of a tight space. There's the panicky sound of someone wet, and shivering, and frightened, getting themselves stuck.

Chloe rolls her eyes. She makes her way round the barrels. She sheathes her knife, and puts the lantern on the ground, and kneels down beside the barrels. Chloe peers into the narrow gap behind them.

Worried blue eyes in a sunburned face stare back at her. He's young, small, freckled, and graced with delicate features below badly cut clumps of damp brown hair.

Chloe sighs. "You stuck?"

A tiny, embarrassed nod.

"Can you get a hand to me?"

He wriggles and strains and reaches his right hand to her. Chloe grabs it and notes the calluses on it. She'd thought from the first glance that his hands would be soft, but no. He's got sailors hands. Not as rough as Chloe's, but he's clearly no stranger to rope, canvas, oak and salt water. There might be some hope for the poor sod, she supposes. Not much, but he's that bit less likely to be tossed over the side if he can pull his weight.

"Ready?"

Another tiny nod.

Chloe heaves and the boy pushes and for a few seconds it seems he's stuck fast, but then suddenly he's free. Chloe recovers the lantern while he huddles on the rough wood and shivers and hugs himself.

His clothes are wet through.

Chloe bites back another sigh. She decided a long time ago that Chloe Price, scourge of the Caribbean, isn't the sort of person who sighs and takes pity on others. But...there's something about the wretched youth huddled at her feet that compels her towards kindly feelings. Or maybe it's just the aftermath of the mutiny, and her stranding Fletcher, and her fight with Harold. It's been a busy day, full of conflict, and Chloe just wants some peace.

Chloe leans down and grabs his arm. She hauls him upright, noting that he's lean, rather than thin. There's wiry muscle on that frame.

In the lantern light, his eyes are blue. When she drags him stumbling into the afternoon sun, Chloe sees that his eyes are shockingly deep, cerulean orbs. Underneath the pink of the burns, his skin is pale and fair. In spite of his horrible, clumpy hair, his features are almost feminine. Chloe catches herself thinking he'd make a pretty girl.

Luckily, before that thought is given time to mature into embarrassment, it's crushed by a shout from one of the crew. "What's this? A stowaway?"

Another sailor bumps into the hapless boy, tumbling him to the deck. "You picked the wrong ship, matey!"

There's a chorus of jeers from around them, and more crew around and above them in the rigging pour a torrent of abuse on the boy.

Chloe hauls him upright again and bellows, "Stow it! There's work to be done, and it's up to the captain what happens with this one. You'll all know soon enough."

She drags him to the stern, and Frank's...no, _Rachel's_ cabin. He's shaking, but Chloe doesn't think it's the wet clothes that are doing it this time.

He asks, softly, "What sort of ship is it I'm on, then?"

There's a lilt to his words that's audible now his teeth aren't clicking together. Irish, maybe?

Chloe knocks on Rachel's door. "You're about to find out if it's a bad one, or a worse one for you."

He closes his eyes, but not before Chloe sees the terror in them. She grits her teeth and hopes that Rachel's still in a good mood.

* * *

Rachel looks up from the charts she's been studying. She's been learning how to read maps, and charts, and the stars, for the last few months, but there's so much to learn and she hasn't had enough time to adjust to this life. Frank was a good navigator, and Fletcher a great one. She's hoping that she and Felipe can work things out well enough between them to get this first job done. Do this right, and the crew will follow her without question. Do this right, and the Prescotts will bleed. Not enough, but enough to get started.

Do this wrong, and she'll likely go over the side of the ship with a knife in her gut.

She could really do with less distractions at the moment. But there's another, louder knock at the door.

Rachel covers the charts up and says, "Come in!"

Chloe ducks into her cabin, and Rachel smiles. Chloe drags a bedraggled girl in with her, and Rachel's smile fades. "Close the door. What's all this, second mate?"

Chloe closes the door and hauls the shivering girl to stand in front of Rachel's table.

"I found him below. Stowaway. I brought him straight up to you, captain."

Rachel blinks and studies the youth in Chloe's grasp. She rubs her brow, wearily.

"Chloe, is this an elaborate joke?"

Chloe looks affronted. "No! He was wedged behind some casks. I think he swam to the ship and climbed the stern anchor chain. He might not look like much, but he's got some balls, at least."

Rachel feels a faint flicker of amusement when the girl gives Chloe a sour look. "Chloe...let the young lady go. She's too frightened to think straight, let alone speak. And we need her to speak."

Chloe gapes at Rachel. "She...?" Then she turns and inspects the girl and flushes red. "Uh, alright, Rachel. Shit, sorry! Captain."

Chloe lets the girl go and takes a step back to fluster in some kind of privacy. The girl hunches up her shoulders and keeps her gaze fixed on the floor.

Rachel sighs again. "Take a seat. Please. Chloe, could you fetch a blanket? Oh, and dig out some of Frank's private stash of rum. I know you know where he hides it in here. Three glasses, Chloe."

The girl sits and shudders as Chloe quickly and quietly goes to work. Soon, the blanket's wrapped around the girl's shoulders and she's clutching a battered mug with a generous tot of rum in her hands.

Rachel's oddly pleased. Not so much at Chloe's obedience, but at her quiet solicitude towards the girl. Rachel's used to seeing Chloe the pirate, having to act tougher than any man on this ship to keep her place. It's an act Chloe's good at. Too good, really, because it's a rare thing to catch glimpses of the woman underneath the bravado.

Watching Chloe now, Rachel gets a glimpse at kindness, care, and warmth. In another life, one in which Rachel might have time to live, she thinks she and Chloe might have been friends.

But that's a foolish notion. If anything in Rachel's life had gone differently, she and Chloe would never have met at all. No, what matters is that Chloe's a little soft around this girl, so if her throat needs cutting, Rachel will make sure Chloe's busy elsewhere when the job is done.

Rachel focuses on the girl. With rum inside her, and her shivers subsiding, she actually dares to meet Rachel's gaze. Rachel offers her a smile and says, "You're fucked. The only question is, how completely are you fucked? I'm Captain Rachel Amber. You're going to have to help me decide how fucked you are."

* * *

Max thinks she knew the second she saw Chloe fighting.

She was almost certain when Chloe pulled her out of her hiding place.

But the short trip across the deck hardened her certainty, and now, here, even in a blanket and with rum burning in her belly, she knows exactly what sort of trouble she's in.

Captain Amber's question is unexpected only in that offers Max even an illusion of choice.

Captain Amber, Rachel, has changed out of her silk dress and is wearing a white shirt and trousers. In a way, she's dressed similarly to Max. But where Max looks like a drowned rat, Rachel looks a lot like Max always imagined Grace O'Malley must have looked.

Up close, she's more beautiful than ever, easily the most beautiful woman Max has ever seen, but there's something cold in her hazel eyes, something off about her smile.

Max realises she's been quiet too long when Chloe kicks her under the table. She jumps, and blurts, "You're pirates, then. I'd thought to find honest work, but I've found murderers and thieves."

Beside her, Chloe stiffens and glares. Captain Amber's smile becomes friendlier, if anything.

"Well, if it's honest work you were looking for, you were going about it quite dishonestly, Miss...?"

"Cau...uh, j-just call me Max."

Rachel shakes her head. "Max, that's a noble thought. To spare your family hardship? I respect that. But if you can be ransomed back to them, that's honestly the best way out of this situation for you. And for them. Imagine how worried they must be. Tell me your full name, Max. Otherwise, tell me why I should feed you and not just give the sharks a meal?"

Chloe surprises Max when she says, "Captain, that's not...necessary. Is it?"

Rachel smiles, sadly. "It's kinder than feeding her to the crew."

It turns out that Max isn't too cold to sweat. She swipes the back of her hand across her brow. She looks down at her lap, thinking frantically. She looks up at a clinking sound to see Chloe pouring her more rum. Rachel sighs and shakes her head again.

"Chloe..."

"What? You were the one who told _me_ off for scaring her. She clearly needs a big fucking drink before she's ready to talk more."

Rachel glares at Chloe for a long few seconds, then rolls her eyes. She says, "Drink your big fucking drink, Max. And talk to me. Tell me why I should keep you around."

Max swallows more rum. Her throat burns, and her eyes sting, and her heart pounds in her chest. Rachel's offering her some kind of way out. She'll be a prisoner aboard this ship for who knows how long. And then she'll be a prisoner on another ship, back home or off to the Americas, and then she'll be a prisoner to Warren Graham, be he a good man, or no.

Fire blooms in her belly, and she says, "I won't tell you my name, for I won't go back to my family. I made a choice about that, and I won't have that choice unmade by any other. Even if it costs me my life."

Rachel sips some rum. She rolls it round her tongue before she swallows. "Hmm." That's all, just that one thoughtful sound.

Chloe says, "You're not sending her over the side."

Max stares at Chloe. She studies her, really studies her. She's young, and she doesn't have Rachel's beauty, though she's pretty, and there's a vitality to her, a sense of life that serves to burnish her skin and brighten her eyes, even when she's glaring at Rachel like this. And Max can see more, she can see that this defiance is costing Chloe something. Indeed, it's costing her more and more in every weighted second of Rachel's silence. Chloe shifts in her chair, and her lip twitches, and her hands, under the table, out of Rachel's sight, are shaking. But Chloe sits and glares and stubbornly pays the price for Max's sake, for the sake of a stupid girl who she doesn't even know.

Max thinks Chloe will keep paying with everything she has, and more, and never flinch from the cost, and she feels a new fear. Fear for the woman beside her.

Max touches Chloe's arm, and now Chloe does flinch, breaking her staring match with Rachel and fleeing Max's touch in the same motion.

Max says, "I'll take what's coming to me for my own mistakes. I'd sooner not drag anyone down with me. But...thank you, for trying."

Rachel snorts, then coughs, then suddenly she's laughing.

Max exchanges a bewildered look with Chloe.

Rachel's laughter abruptly ends. She tips her mug back and drains the last of her rum. She studies the bottom of her cup. "You said you were looking for honest work, Max?"

Chloe raises her eyebrows, but she quickly nods at Max.

So Max says, "I was. I am. I've been working tall ships since I was a child, and I've worked every job there is, watch on watch."

Rachel smiles at her mug. "Hmm. Well, we're a few hands short. If yours are any good, we could use them."

Chloe quickly says, "I can think of a lot of ways of putting her to use, believe me."

An odd look passes between the captain and Chloe. Chloe suddenly flushes and gulps down her rum.

Before Max can fathom what that was about, Rachel says, "We're going to take a ship soon, Max. The timing is very tight, so we won't be seeing any kind of port again until after it's done. But what about this? Work for me. You'll not be asked to take part in any thieving or murdering. When the fighting starts, you can stay below. If we're captured, I'll tell them you're my hostage. If we're not, the next port we come to, you'll be free to go. I'll even pay you a fair wage for your time."

Max hesitates, but only for a second. "That's a better offer than I could expect from most in your position, Captain Amber. I'll...not take your money, though. I've a little of my own. It'll be enough. And I'll say nothing to anyone about my time on the _Pompidou_. I swear it."

Rachel lifts her gaze from her mug and scrutinises Max. Rachel seems to look into her very soul. She smiles, and it's a softer smile than before, and sadder, too. "Then we have an accord. Chloe, I think it's best if she bunks in with you in my old cabin, don't you think?"

Chloe blows out a relieved breath. "Yeah, that's a good idea. Uh, I mean, of course, captain!"

Rachel shakes her head. "Just Rachel to you, when we're in here. I'm going to need your counsel, Chloe. I need people willing to stand up to me."

Max watches Chloe swell with pride and relief. She flicks a glance at Rachel, and sees her smile grow sadder, before it slides off her face entirely.

Max frowns, but she doesn't say anything.

Rachel nods. "Chloe, get Max a change of clothes and make sure she's dried out before you put her to work. Off with you, now."

"Aye, Rachel!" Chloe almost bounces to her feet. She grabs Max's arm again, but she isn't rough as she pulls Max along, just eager.

When Captain Amber's door is closed behind them, Chloe says, "Okay, I'll take you to the cabin and then I'll find you some dry clothes. I'll spread the word that you're one of us now, too. It won't stop them giving you a hard time, but if anyone gets...well, if someone tries to..."

In spite of everything, Max finds a smile at Chloe's attempts to phrase things delicately for her. "I was telling the truth about working ships since I was little. That means learning how to work around the crew, too."

Chloe grins. "Good for you. Still...be careful. You've never been a pirate before."

Max's smile vanishes. "And I'm no pirate, now. And I'll thank you to remember it. I've got my own clothes, in a sack I stowed in the hold. Will you want me to fetch that?"

Chloe stares down at her, bemused. "Ha! You're...tougher than you look, Max. I'll take you to the cabin, then I will graciously retrieve your belongings. We'll make sure you aren't going to take a fever tonight, and then tomorrow..."

Max folds her arms and stares up into Chloe's clear blue eyes. "Tomorrow...?"

Chloe snarls, "You'll be taking my fucking orders, and you'll not be talking back to me, or you'll be talking to my fist. Clear?"

Max swallows and unfolds her arms. "A-aye, second mate Price!"

Chloe grins and rubs her hands together. "Good! Let's get you settled in, then."

That night, Max lies awake thinking she'll never sleep until she slides unknowing into a dream. In her dream, she hears thunder rumbling, and knows that she's hearing the sound of God laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, folks!
> 
> It's always fun to jump back into this one, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please do let me know what you think, too. Even the most critical of comments shall never be punished with keelhauling. This is my pirate promise to you.
> 
> At this stage, I know better than to promise another chapter soon, but I know what happens in the next chapter or two, and, whether sooner or later, I regular promise you will, too.
> 
> Thanks again, and have a lovely day!


	5. Before the Storm

That night, sleep is elusive for Rachel.

It's been a difficult day. She could've died more than once. But while the thought of dying concerns her, it's only inasmuch as she hasn't had even a taste of revenge yet. She survived the day, as she has survived the last six months. It's enough.

Her plans, long laid and only then through bitter toil, are being realised. But it's not excitement that keeps her awake, either.

No, it's their stowaway that's the issue.

Rachel thought she was long past caring about the opinion of others. But there was a flash of disgust on Max's face when she realised she was dealing with pirates, and it bothers Rachel.

Rachel stirs restlessly under a blanket that still smells like Frank.

Max bothers Rachel.

She shouldn't, of course. It's unlikely that Max will prove an impediment to Rachel's plans. But she's something unaccounted for, a distraction when Rachel needs to be at her most focused.

Worse than her disgust is Max's bravery. She's foolish, and stubborn to a fault, but there's a part of Rachel long dormant that can't help but respond to what she saw in Max during their interview.

Max is...admirable.

She curses, sits up, and gathers up the blanket. Rachel tosses it over the back of the cannon that points at the closed stern window. She doesn't need a blanket. The night is warm enough.

Rachel has no time for admiration. She has no need for friends. She has no use for Max.

The Prescotts are Rachel's priority. Her only priority. Nothing and no one else matters. She repeats that to herself until she falls asleep.

She sleeps for almost three hours before the nightmares wake her.

After letting her sweat dry and her heart slow, Rachel washes, dresses in a shirt and trousers, and goes on deck to relieve Felipe.

Dawn is just brushing colour into the world when she leaves her cabin. There's a tiny aching moment when Rachel can appreciate how beautiful it all is: the morning, the ship, and the sea.

Then Chloe appears, a piece of salted pork in her hand, and Max close behind her.

Max looks nervous and smaller than ever. She hunches her shoulders and peers anxiously around her as the crew stare at her. Not all of them are hostile, but even the curious looks she receives are enough to make Max fidget and shuffle closer to Chloe.

Rachel yells, "Price!"

Chloe chews and grimaces as she forces her breakfast down. "Captain?"

Rachel points at Max, who shrinks from the attention. "Is there any reason that person is standing idle on my deck when we're going too slow?"

That makes just about everyone on deck stare at Max, who flushes and stares down at her feet.

Chloe, says, "Uh, no captain. Get aloft, Max. Hayden, you, too! And the rest of you lazy curs! We're going to-"

Max raises her head and says, "Let out the royals? T'gallants won't be as much use in this soft breath of a breeze."

Chloe glowers at Max and takes a half step towards her. "Are you talking back, Max?"

There's no real threat in the gesture, but Max flinches, while the gathered crew chuckle.

Max ducks her head and mutters, "Sorry."

Chloe winks at Rachel and roars, "Get moving! We're letting out the royals!"

Along with a handful of other crew members, Max rushes towards the nearest ratline and scrambles aloft with startling agility. Rachel watches Max as Chloe bellows orders. Max snaps to like she's on a Royal Navy frigate.

Chloe joins Rachel and grins. "Fuck, look at her! She's outpacing them all, even Hayden!"

Rachel feels a flicker of admiration. She crushes it down ruthlessly. "She said she could do anything we put her to. So put her to everything you can think of. Work her, Chloe. And keep her out of my way."

Chloe makes a poor job of hiding her surprise. "Uh, captain, are you-"

"Giving you an order? Yes, Price. I am."

Chloe flinches, and mutters, "Aye, captain."

Rachel has to bite back a curse. "Chloe. We're not making friends, here. We're going to war. Max isn't one of us. Don't forget that."

Chloe frowns. "I don't see any reason to treat her harshly. She's not our enemy, Ra...ah, captain."

"She isn't our enemy, but that doesn't mean we aren't hers. Keep her close, but don't _get_ close to her. Understand?"

Chloe flushes red. "I'll put her to work and I won't make friends." She glares at Rachel. "Happy?"

She snaps the word. Quietly, but even so...there's no such thing as privacy on deck, and Rachel can't let anyone undermine her authority. Not even Chloe.

Chloe doesn't require much defusing, though. Rachel touches her shoulder, traces her hand down to Chloe's elbow. Rachel pretends not to notice that Chloe shivers at her touch.

Rachel says, "No. I'm not happy. It's just how things need to be."

It's true, too. Rachel isn't happy about any of this. Least of all what she's doing to Chloe. But she crushes that thought down, too.

Chloe steps back, throws a lazy salute and yells, "Aye, Captain Amber!"

She goes to work, roaring at Max and the rest with a grin on her lips and none in her eyes.

Rachel curses Max again, then pushes her out of her mind. She busies herself with being _Pompidou's_ captain, instead.

Getting the ship where it needs to go occupies most of Rachel's attention. She and Felipe consult on matters of navigation. The rest is up to the crew and the weather.

Both are generally in her favour in the following days. The crew seems willing to follow her. The wind seems willing to drive her on.

To avoid time she'd otherwise spend thinking, Rachel practices with pistol, sword, and knife. She finds she's a good shot, a poor fencer, and dangerous enough with a short blade should the occasion arise.

She deals with petty disputes and matters of discipline and learns new respect for Frank's drinking, if not quite for Frank.

She keeps away from Max as best she can, and if that means keeping away from her second mate as much as is practical, so be it.

Rachel imagines, sometimes, when the sun is warm, and the wind is at their backs, and _Pompidou_ is bounding across the waves, that Sean Prescott has put himself in reach of her knife and that she's gutting him.

It's not happiness she feels when she imagines that, but it's close enough for Rachel.

When she sleeps, Rachel dreams of finding her father, and of her mother being taken away. She wakes up sweating, and hating, and never once crying.

The Prescott ship gets nearer. Anticipation builds within her, ugly and raw.

And bit by bit, the days pass.

* * *

Life aboard the _Pompidou_ is, in many respects, much like life aboard any other ship Max has sailed on.

That only makes things harder for her.

Some of the crew are frightening in manner or appearance, but a few are surprisingly friendly. She's often on the same watch with Hayden and Justin, and Max finds she likes them both. Hayden is sharp, but not given to cutting others down. Justin is...sweet. It's a strange thought, a sweet pirate, but there's no better word for him.

"We're not pirates, Max," Hayden points out while they're holystoning the deck one morning.

"We're not?" Justin asks. He pauses in his work, frowning. "I thought we were, though."

Hayden sighs. "Not anymore, I mean. We're privateers, now!"

"So Miss Price has been telling me. Though I can't see how it makes much difference," Max says. "You're still killing and robbing honest merchants."

"There's hardly any _honest_ merchants in the world, Max. And it makes all the difference! Why is that, Justin?"

"Hmm? Oh! We're...not allowed to attack Spanish ships anymore?"

"Correct! Good work, Justin!" Hayden winks at Max, who fails to suppress a smile. "But it also means safe harbour in Spanish ports. It means the support of the Spanish government. It means we're...respectable."

"I'm not sure that's the word I'd use..." Max says, dryly.

"Did someone say work?" Chloe is suddenly standing over them. "Funny, isn't that what you're _supposed_ to be doing? I want this fucking deck to gleam, or there'll be trouble," she growls.

Chloe is never far from Max. While some of the crew have accepted her, and Max has been doing more than her fair share of work, it's Chloe's watchful presence that keeps the worst elements of the crew away from her.

Max can understand why. Chloe can be scary when she wants to be.

Max and Justin quickly return to their scrubbing.

Hayden whispers, "She likes you, Max."

"What? I don't think she does, at all!"

Justin says, "Oh, normally she'd clip me round the ear. But she doesn't when you're around. She doesn't want to upset you. That's why I like working with you."

"Oh," Max says, unsure how to feel about any of that.

Of course, she knows Chloe isn't as rough as she acts around the crew. When it's just the two of them in the cabin they share, Chloe isn't scary at all. Chloe's always joking, and telling stories, and...in truth, she's easy to like. Sometimes it even seems as if she's the one that's nervous around Max, which is...odd.

And oddly...endearing.

Chloe is easy to like, but Max can't let her guard down. Chloe's loyal to Captain Amber, and Max neither trusts Captain Amber, or much likes the way she treats Chloe.

Justin suddenly grunts and Max looks over to see Hayden glaring at him.

"Hayden, why'd you...oh! Uh, that's not the only reason I like working with you, Max."

Hayden rolls his eyes, but he smiles. "You're pleasant company, Max. Even if you do hate pirates."

"Which we're not, so that's alright!" Justin adds, cheerfully.

Max sighs. "It was pirates who killed my grandfather, and...anyway. You two have been kind to me, but...I'll be moving on, as soon as I'm able. And doing my best to forget my time here."

Neither of them say anything to that. Max glances up in time to see Chloe glaring at her with such anger that Max doesn't dare look up again until the deck is scrubbed as clean as can be.

* * *

They're five days out from Arcadia before they're hit with any rough weather. It's just a brief squall they run into, dangerous enough, but not deadly.

Still, it's the sort of day where Chloe keeps a careful watch and listens out for... _that_.

A ripping sound, followed by the flapping of canvas. A rope has snapped, and one their fucking mainsails is whipping loose in the wind. Unless something is done quickly, at best, they're going to lose the sail.

More likely, the rigging could get fouled, the spar or even the mast damaged.

They could get seriously delayed making repairs, and they can't afford that.

Chloe curses and snaps, "Max!"

It's Chloe's watch, which means that Max is nearby.

Max is always nearby. They work together, eat together, sleep together.

Well, in the same room. They don't share a bunk, of course. Max has a hammock. Not that Chloe's given that any thought.

Chloe blinks and forces herself back into the present.

At the sound of her name, Max looks round. Her eyes widen when she notices the sail, and with nothing more than a quick nod to Chloe, they're both moving.

It's one of the oddities that Chloe has noticed about Max. She's often clumsy and absentminded, quite capable of dropping her dinner the moment she's picked it up, or near daily stubbing her toe against Chloe's sea chest.

But moments like this...

Chloe reaches the ratlines first, but she still gets to watch Max climb past her, swift, sure and nimble. She's just that fast.

Chloe's slightly in awe of Max's agility.

They don't say anything as they go to work reefing the sail. It's a job for more than two people, but they manage to get they torn part of the sail secured and their half of the sail furled by the time Hayden and the rest of the watch are in position and on the other side of the yardarm.

Chloe laughs, briefly dizzy with the delight of their speed and their victory over the wind and the sea.

Max is right there, at Chloe's shoulder, sharing her joy and grinning at her.

They don't _have_ to say anything to understand each other in moments like this. And they do understand each other. There's a love of the sea in them both, deep in their bones, present in the chambers of their hearts.

It's something Rachel doesn't have. It's something few on the _Pompidou_ have, in truth. Not like Chloe does. Not like Max, either.

They don't have to say anything, because there's an understanding they share that no words of Chloe's could ever convey.

But...

That grin is so warm, those blue eyes are so inviting, that Chloe says, "Ha! There's no one on this tub that can keep up with us, Max! We're queens of the fucking sea!"

Max's grin promptly vanishes.

Max says, "I'd best fetch some rope if we're to fix this sail, Miss Price. I'll be quick."

She's gone before Chloe can say anything else.

Chloe groans. "Why did I say anything?"

On the other side of the mast, Hayden looks at her and yells, "Is everything okay?"

Chloe nods. "Fine!"

But Chloe isn't fine.

For all the time she spends with Max, she rarely gets to see the other woman with her guard down. And whenever Chloe _does_ make Max smile, or laugh, or share some story about herself, Chloe finds a way to ruin it.

Max isn't one of them. She won't ever be. Chloe knows that Max _shouldn't_ become part of this crew. She deserves better than to become a pirate.

She deserves better than to be like Chloe.

* * *

They're eight days out from Arcadia when Rachel goes out on deck to find Chloe at the wheel.

"Captain." She yawns. Rachel's jaw muscles creak in sympathy, but it's the black smudges under Chloe's eyes that really get Rachel's attention.

Chloe takes one hand off the wheel long enough to rub her face. She says, "It's been quiet. Don't like the look of that, but I think we can skirt it, if your Prescott ship is on schedule."

Chloe juts her chin to the east. Rachel looks and sees a band of black clouds piling messily atop each other and threatening to drown the sky.

It's still a ways off, but the wind is up today and the sea is choppy. _Pompidou_ is coping well, but Rachel isn't. Chloe sways and adjusts her stance easily, but Rachel stumbles almost every time a big wave hits _Pompidou's_ hull.

Rachel swallows. Nothing is certain at sea, she knows. She makes her voice as steady as she can. "Well, I don't want a little rain getting in the way of all that gold."

Chloe laughs. "It'd just better stay out of our way, huh?"

"Exactly." Rachel looks over the deck and frowns. "Where's the girl? I thought I told you to keep your eye on her?"

Chloe chuckles. "She's keeping an eye on us."

Rachel blinks, then looks up. She can make out the crow's nest, a circular platform near the top of the mainmast, but she can't see who's in it.

"She's up there?"

"Yeah. Max has sharp eyes, Ra...uh, captain."

Chloe sounds admiring. She sounds...wistful.

Rachel keeps her voice low, her tone amused. "I thought I told you not to get close, Price."

Chloe stiffens. "You don't have to remind me. Or worry about it."

"Oh?"

"Max isn't going to let anyone get close. Least of all _me_." Chloe's hands tighten on the wheel, her knuckles whitening. After a few seconds, she blurts, "She won't stop calling me Miss Price."

Rachel shakes her head. "That sounds...polite?"

"I told her she could call me Chloe! But she's just so...stubborn! We'll be fine one minute and then I'll ask her the wrong thing, and she'll just say, 'I'm sure a thing like that wouldn't be of interest to a pirate, Miss Price.' Or she won't say anything at all. For _hours_."

And now Rachel has to fight to keep the amusement out of her voice. "Have you explained that we aren't really pirates anymore? We're privateers licensed by Spain."

"Yes! And it did _not_ help. She told me she doesn't see any difference between them. Pirates killed her grandfather, so she sees 'no reason why any decent person should take pride in being one.' All in that _accent_ of hers. She'll hardly say anything to me when we're on deck. But she'll talk to Hayden and Justin! Ugh...I'll be glad to be rid of her."

Rachel looks at Chloe, who glares at the horizon. Her cheeks are as red as her knuckles are white.

Suddenly, Rachel doesn't find the situation funny at all. She says, quietly, "I'm sorry, Chloe. I didn't realise this would be so hard on you. We can make...other arrangements for Max."

Chloe's eyes widen. "No! You can't-"

Rachel touches her arm. "I meant she could sleep with me. If that would help."

Chloe ducks her head, embarrassed. "Fuck. No, it's okay. She'll be leaving us in, what? Ten days at the most?"

"All going well."

"Right." Chloe snorts. "We're going into a battle, Rachel. Nothing ever goes well."

Rachel decides to let Chloe's slip go. "It might not come to that. They might surrender."

Chloe glares at her. "You've told me about the Prescotts. What would they do to a captain who surrendered to pirates? Especially one carrying a precious cargo?"

Rachel sighs. "I know. It'll be a fight."

Chloe mumbles, "Max doesn't deserve this shit."

"That's a lot of sympathy for a stowaway who hates pirates," Rachel observes, quietly.

"I...normally I'd tell anyone who judged me to go fuck themselves. They don't know what led me here."

"But?"

"She's...not so different from me. Running from her troubles, trying to figure out her place in the world. I didn't exactly set out to become a pirate..."

Chloe chews her lip. Rachel has never heard all of Chloe's story. She's...never taken more time to listen than she's needed to, before.

Chloe sighs, and says, "I didn't want to be a pirate, but it seemed better than the alternatives. There wasn't any honest work to be had. Was I supposed to find a husband? Ha!"

"That's a fate I'd rather not see you subjected to, no."

Chloe looks at her, and smiles, and Rachel offers a weak smile back before she looks away.

"When Frank offered me a place on the _Pompidou_ , I took it and didn't think twice. Max is trying to do things _right_. And she's not _bad_...you know, she smiles at me? Sometimes, when we're working together. When she forgets I'm..." Chloe shrugs. After a minute, she says, "Anyway. I wouldn't feel right if something bad happened to her."

Rachel frowns. She says, without meaning to, "I'll talk to her."

"You will?" Chloe sounds as surprised as Rachel is.

"I will," Rachel says, determined. "I can't have Miss Caulfield causing Miss Price problems."

"Miss _Caulfield_? When did you find out her name?"

"Oh, it was obvious enough. What you said makes me sure of it, though. Well done on getting her talking."

Chloe gapes at her. "I...did? Ra... _captain_? You're not going to talk to her _now_ , are you?"

"Why not?" Rachel flashes Chloe a grin. "This won't take long."

Chloe looks up at the sky, anxiously. "Wait till she comes down. Or...at least until things are a bit calmer!"

But Rachel snorts. "Chloe. I'll be fine." She's not exactly sure why she feels the need to talk to Max so urgently, but she isn't inclined to wait. She strides confidently towards the ratlines, and begins her climb.

* * *

Sitting in the crow's nest, Max can pretend that she isn't aboard a pirate ship. She can pretend that she's not betrayed her family in every way possible.

She can pretend that she's part of a decent crew, doing valuable work.

That way she doesn't have to feel guilty about how much she's enjoying herself.

Because while the work is arduous, dangerous and never ending, she's _sailing_. The love of it is fierce and deep within her. And Chloe really isn't the taskmaster she thinks she is. Max's own father used to work her harder and expect more of her than any other member of the crew.

It was one of the things she loved about him.

Max bites her lip and watches the world outside _Pompidou_ and tries to pretend that she still loves her father with her all heart.

She finds a kind of peace, balancing on that lie.

But she knows it can't last.

In fact, it lasts less than a minute. From a few feet below Max, a voice croaks, "Help."

Max crawls over to the side of the platform and looks down into Captain Rachel Amber's frightened hazel eyes. She's clinging desperately to the ratlines, her whole body shaking. The ship rolls beneath them as she cuts through a wave, and Rachel cries out as her body is tugged downward.

"You're no kind of sailor, what are you thinking...?" Max is moving before the first word is out, scrabbling over the side and down to Rachel. "Hold on. Don't try to fight the roll, but move with it. Wait, now..."

The rigging is narrow where it reaches up to the crow's nest. There isn't really room for two people to climb it like a ladder. So Max moves to the side and hooks her elbow around a rope and braces one foot on the mast to leave Rachel as much room as possible. Max extends her free hand to Rachel who stares at her with too wide eyes.

Max shouts, "When I say, take my hand and climb. But keep your grip on the rattlins all the time, or your folly will kill us both. Do you understand?"

There's a flash of anger in Rachel's eyes, and that's good. It's better by far than fear. Max waits and lets _Pompidou_ heel over, canting them at a favourable angle. Only then does she yell, "Now! Climb!"

For a dreadful moment she thinks Rachel can't, either because she's afraid or because her fingers have numbed. But Rachel snarls and she reaches up, grabbing Max's hand and pushing herself upwards. Max hauls Rachel up alongside her, then encourages her up past her. Max swings herself back onto the rigging and gets her shoulder under Rachel's behind and shoves.

Rachel yelps and almost kicks Max in the face, managing to catch Max's shoulder a glancing blow. But she makes it onto the platform above and Max keeps a tight hold of the ratlines until she's ready to follow.

She finds Rachel sitting as near the centre of the platform as she can get, all but hugging the mast.

Max sits near her, not that there's much choice in such a small space, and says, "You're a bloody fool and lucky you're not dead. What were you thinking, trying to climb up here in anything other than a dead calm?"

"I-I was thinking...that this is my fucking ship and I'll go where I want." Rachel sounds defiant, but she still looks frightened. It's strange to see someone normally so composed so...distressed.

Max feels a pang of sympathy for the other woman, but sympathy won't help her remember the lesson.

So Max says, forcefully, "You may have stolen her, but _Pompidou_ isn't a thing you can own. She's something you have to _learn_. This is a _dangerous_ way to live, Captain Amber. Learn to respect this ship, and that sea, or you'll perish."

Rachel laughs, her face pale, wild, and somehow more beautiful than ever. "Living is always dangerous, Miss _Caulfield_. And I am the current mistress of your fate. Learn to respect _me_."

Max shivers. "How...how did you know...?"

Rachel smiles. Her grip loosens on the mast. "There's not that many Irish shipping companies working the Americas with an eligible daughter wanting only a husband. It's been half a year since I was welcome in a salon, but I heard something about the...Grahams, was it?"

Max grits her teeth. Her fate really is in Rachel's hands. She says, "A salon? How fancy!" Max shakes her head. "How did _you_ become a pirate? Were you fleeing a wedding, like me?"

Rachel laughs, but there's no humour in it. "Oh, is that what you're running from? Personally, I was never betrothed. I had no shortage of suitors, though. I used to think it a grand game to tease them all."

"I have no difficulty believing that, at least. You're the most beautiful woman I've ever met." Max finds herself regretting the words as soon as they're spoken.

Rachel stares at her. She laughs again, more genuinely this time. "Why, Max. How gallant of you."

To Max's surprise, Rachel flutters her eyelashes at her. "Well, may I say that _you_ have the loveliest blue eyes I've ever seen, Max?" Rachel blushes slightly, and looks down at her lap.

Max's mouth is suddenly dry and there's a weird tug in her stomach, as if _Pompidou_ had suddenly heeled over onto her starboard side.

"Ha! It's been a while since I've done that." Rachel looks up again, utterly composed apart from a faint smirk. "It's hard to tell, but I think you might be blushing under all that sunburn, Max."

Max frowns and remembers that she's annoyed. "I'm not your...suitor, Miss Amber. I'm your hostage, remember?"

" _Captain_ Amber. And I seem to remember making you a provisional part of my crew."

"Well, forgive me if I don't take you at your word or understand your intentions."

"Currently? My intention is to ask you to make life a bit easier on Miss Price."

Max gapes at her. "What? I haven't done anything to her!"

"Except express your disdain and contempt for her at her every turn. And add insult to injury by being friendly with other crew-"

"I don't disdain her! I've rebuffed her efforts to _expose_ me! Or am I to believe she's not your instrument? That you didn't work out who I am because she's reporting to you?"

"She doesn't _report_ to me. We talked, and some things she said gave you away. As did you telling me part of your last name when we first met."

And that, perhaps, should shut Max up, because it's true. But instead of acknowledging her own stupidity, she blurts, "She may not know she's your spy, but that's what she is. Just a tool for you to use as you see fit!"

Rachel's quick to hide her shock, but not so quick that Max doesn't see it. "You...do _not_ get to-"

"Point out evident truth? She worships you. And _you_ use that as it suits you."

Rachel looks away. "That isn't why I'm asking...listen, I _don't_ -"

Max knows that pushing Rachel is a foolish thing to do, but she can't help it. "You do use her. Knowingly. And she deserves better. Whatever drives you, it's not love of this crew, this ship, or the sea."

"Fuck the sea, fuck this ship, and fuck you," Rachel snarls. "You have no idea what drives me."

And Max is sure that she _means_ to say that she doesn't care, but she finds herself saying, "So. Tell me, then."

Rachel takes a breath, holds it, and lets it out in a long sigh. By the time that breath is gone, there's no trace of anger on her face. There's no emotion at all.

"No," she says, simply. "I won't."

Max waits for a minute. She looks out, surveying the horizon. Beside her, Rachel seems to remember where she is and tightens her grip on the mast.

Max says, as calmly as she can, "You will tell me, you know. Before you climb down."

Rachel raises an eyebrow. There's a hint of amusement in the way her lips curl, but Max has no idea if it's genuine or not. "Oh? Why do you think that?"

Max meets Rachel's gaze. Her hazel eyes are curious, and beautiful, and something Max doesn't have a word for. Before her courage fails her, Max says, "I saved your life, Captain Amber."

Rachel frowns. "I...suppose you could argue that if you hadn't helped me, I likely would've fallen."

"You'll not make such a mistake again, I know. And maybe you don't owe me much. But I don't understand you at all. Is an explanation so much to ask?"

Rachel's quiet for a long time. Max makes herself as comfortable as she can beside her and watches the sea.

At length, Rachel says, "My father was a merchant. He traded in gold, and silver. Jewellery, too. Our family had a good business in England, but my father brought us to the Americas after my uncle died. He wanted to build something new for...us."

Max risks a question. "Us? Have you any brothers or sisters?"

Rachel doesn't look at her. "I have no one. Not anymore."

Max isn't sure how to respond to that, but when their silence becomes uncomfortably long, she says, "I'm sorry..."

Rachel ignores her. "The Americas are challenging. It's difficult transporting goods there. Huge distances involved. Bad roads. Brigands. But my father is a clever man, and the Ambers had a good reputation. My father used his capital and his cunning to build a...network of reliable people. Small traders and former scouts. People who knew good routes and, oh...it doesn't matter, now."

Max doesn't say anything. She's just watching Rachel now, scrutinising her as carefully as she would a dark shape in the water to see if it's a hull-ripping rock.

"We weren't as rich as you might think, but...we were building something. I helped. A little. With accounts, with persuading investors. I convinced the owners of fledgling operations to throw in their lot with us. I can be charming, Max. And I understood that what my father was building was about the _people_ , as much as anything. Well...father decided we needed to expand into shipping, too. I...had made the acquaintance of a young man called Nathan Prescott, scion of one of the biggest family owned shipping operations in the New World or the old."

"I've heard of the Prescotts. Can't say I've heard much good..."

"Oh, Nathan was quite charming. At first. And they have money, and influence, and such good _breeding_ behind them." There are unshed tears in Rachel's eyes. She blinks them away. Her voice becomes a whisper. "So I introduced our fathers to each other."

"Oh. And...it went bad, didn't it?"

Rachel clenches her teeth. She forces herself to say, "They wanted to expand. They're investing heavily into the Americas. They wanted our contacts, our network. I thought Sean Prescott wanted to make a deal with my father, but he just wanted our trade network. He didn't care about our family business. He expected that father would sell him everything, for enough money. Father said no. So Sean Prescott destroyed my father's business, and my family's reputation, and he took what he wanted from the broken pieces he left behind."

"Rachel, I'm...I'm sorry, that's-"

"You want to know my intentions?" Rachel turns to Max, then, and Max flinches because there's murder in her eyes. "I'm going to destroy the people who destroyed my family, Max. All of them."

Max shakes her head. "I don't see how you can, Rachel. The Prescotts are...they're powerful. They're friends with royalty...they-"

"In a day or so, depending on the weather, we'll be taking a Prescott ship. It's full of gold. It's not enough to break them, but it'll bleed them a little. After that...well, after that we'll go our separate ways." Rachel smiles. "But keep an ear open for news of the Prescotts, Max. Believe me, I'm going to gut the fuckers."

Max swallows, and looks away. She believes that Rachel will try, at least. "You know that won't help anyone?"

"Nonsense. It'll help the next people Sean tries to destroy."

"A lot of innocent people will get hurt, Rachel. You will, too. The rest of your crew...Chloe..."

"You knew I was likely to hurt people before we had this talk, Max. You know what happens to most pirates, sooner or later." Rachel narrows her eyes. "So...why did you help me?"

Max looks at Rachel, puzzled. "You were in trouble. Of course I'd help you!"

Rachel studies her. Max begins to feel self-conscious under the weight of her gaze.

Rachel shakes her head. She smiles, sadly. "Oh, Max. I'm giving you an order: stay out of trouble. Stay safe."

"I intend to. I won't be the one fighting, after all."

"No, you won't. I keep my word, Max. Don't worry about that. Oh, and if you could show some mercy to Chloe, I'd appreciate it. She thinks quite highly of you."

Max blinks. "She does? I've no idea why..."

But she thinks, a little guiltily, of shared smiles, shared burdens, and she wonders.

Rachel must read some of that on her face, because she smirks at that. "Oh, really? Well...be that as it may, make your peace with her. Please."

"I...will. There's no point in trying to hide things from you anymore. I've failed at that. And I like Chloe. She's...been kind to me, but..."

"But?" Rachel asks, so softly the wind almost carries the word away.

"That's an awful story, and I'm truly sorry, Rachel." Max sighs. "But...you're pirates. And I'm not. That's all."

Rachel frowns, but at length she nods. "True. But for the time being, try to forget all that. No one expects anything more of you than you're already doing."

Max hangs her head. "Isn't that bad enough?"

Rachel touches Max's jaw, gently cupping her chin and tilting Max's head up. "You shouldn't punish yourself for wanting to be free, Max. And I swear to you, I won't go back on our deal. Your family won't hear about you from me. But...I'd ask you to consider that you do _have_ a family to go back to. Don't let pride or fear make you forget that. I...I'd love to have that again."

Rachel's hand is surprisingly warm, and softer than Max was expecting. But not so soft as her expression, which is perhaps the most honest one Rachel's worn, and by far the most wounded.

Max can't think of anything to say, so she just stares, no doubt stupidly, at Rachel.

At length, the other woman smiles, and withdraws her hand. She looks around and sighs. "The ship doesn't seem to be swaying quite so much, so...last request. Help me down from here? I'm not ready to die just yet."

Max snorts, but offers a grudging smile. "Alright, just take it slow and keep one hand clinging to something at all..."

That's when she spots the other ship.

"What?"

"I see another ship."

"What? Where?" Rachel whips her head round and shades her eyes, hunting in the direction of Max's gaze.

Max leans over Rachel's shoulder and points out the vessel she's just spotted.

Rachel says, "I can just barely make it out." She tilts her head up. "Can you make out any details?"

Max studies the new ship. It's far out, but even so...her heart sinks.

"It's a merchantman. And I can't say for sure, but I think it's flying an English flag."

Max looks down and finds Rachel staring at her, her face so close her breath is tickling Max's throat.

"That sounds like it could be what I'm looking for...oh." Rachel blinks and focuses entirely on Max, mere inches away. "Your eyes actually are the loveliest blue, aren't they?"

Max abruptly realises that she's become much too close to Rachel Amber. She startles and tries to back away, forgetting for a moment where she is. She snatches at a rope before she entirely loses her balance and falls off the platform.

Rachel grabs her belt and steadies her. She raises an eyebrow, and smirks, but not before Max catches a flash of something...strange in her expression. "That's an odd way to respond to a compliment."

Max looks down at her feet, in hopes, perhaps, of finding something to say down there.

Rachel says, "Come on. Help me down. I think that our...ah, _my_ quarry has been driven to us by the storm. I'm afraid I have work to do, Max."

Max nods, and moves to help her. She's afraid, too.

There's violence coming, and however blackhearted the Prescotts may be, there'll be innocent men on the ship Rachel aims to take.

And...there are decent souls aboard _Pompidou_ , too. Hayden. Justin.

Chloe.

And...Rachel.

Max is very much afraid of the blood that's likely to be spilled soon.

That's surely the only reason why her heart is pounding so hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading folks!
> 
> I certainly hope you enjoyed it, but, gosh, this turned into a real bear to put together. So I'd greatly appreciate your most brutally honest feedback on this one, as whatever shreds of perspective or objectivity I normally possess got lost somewhere around the fourth edit/ rewrite session...
> 
> Oh, and I have a tumblr now: @postfuguestate
> 
> There's nothing there at the moment, except me, but do feel free to say hello or ask anything you might want to ask. At some point I might start putting up some posts about my writing, even if it's just a general advisory as to what I'm working on or what have you.
> 
> Right, cheers again! May you never run into pirates or out of rum. Unless you don't like rum, in which case may you never run into that, either.


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